RELIGIOUS IDEAS
Religion and religious ideas are among the most remarkable products
of the human spirit. With all their reason-defying assertions and
astounding incongruities, they seem at first sight inexplicable. Time
out of mind, therefore, men have found it difficult to conceive them
as having arisen otherwise than through a supernatural or divine
revelation, which, it would follow, must originally have been imparted
to all men alike. But gradually, as people became acquainted with the
more or less rudimentary religions of the various races, which often
differ greatly on the most essential matters, they began to doubt the
accuracy of this assumption, and came more and more to consider whether
religious ideas must not be reckoned as a natural product of the human
mind itself, under the influence of its surroundings.
The first theory was that they arose from a religious craving common
to all human beings, which was itself, therefore, in a certain sense
supernatural. It is a mysterious incomprehensible presentiment, says
Schleiermacher, which drives mankind across the boundaries of the finite
world, and leads everyone to religion; only by the crippling of this
natural proclivity can irreligiousness arise. 'Religion begins in the
first encounter of the life of the All with that of the individual; it
is the sacred and infallible inter-marriage--the creative, productive
embrace--of the universe with incarnate reason.'
Gradually the explanations became less vague and high-sounding. Peschel
and others held that religious ideas arose from the need of conceiving
the cause or beginning of all things, or, in other words, that it was
the sources of movement, life, and thought, which mankind sought after,
with its inborn longing to realise the absolute. Others hold, with
Max Müller, that a longing for the infinite, a striving to understand
the incomprehensible, to name the unnameable, is the deep spiritual
bass-note which makes itself heard in all religions. Others again, like
O. Pfleiderer, see in mankind's inborn and incomprehensible thirst
for beauty, its fantasy, and its æsthetic sense, the first germs of
religious consciousness. Some theorists, finally, have sought to explain
religious ideas as an outcome of the moral sense of mankind, of its
thirst for righteousness.
In the light of a moderately penetrating study of the religious ideas of
the Eskimos, as of every other primitive people, all these philosophic
theories vanish away. In our empirical age, people have come more
and more to recognise that religious ideas must be ascribed to the
same natural laws which condition all other phenomena, and to hold,
as David Hume first maintained, that they can be traced for the most
part to two tendencies in our nature--or perhaps we should rather call
them instincts--which are common to all animals; to wit, _the fear of
death and the desire of life_. From the former instinct arises fear
of the dead and of external nature with its titanic forces, and the
craving for protection against them. From the latter arises the desire
for happiness, for power, and for other advantages. Thus, too, we
understand the fact that the early religions are not disinterested, but
egotistical, that the worshipper is not so much rapt in contemplation
of the enigmas of nature and of the infinite, as eager to secure some
advantage to himself. When, for example, amulets and fetishes are
supposed to possess supernatural power, they are not only treasured, but
worshipped.
It is difficult, not to say impossible, to search back to the first
vague forms in which religious ideas dawned in the morning of
humanity, when thought began to emerge from the primal mists of animal
consciousness. It was with religious ideas in that time as with the
first organic beings which arose upon our earth--they had not yet
assumed such determinate forms, their component parts were not yet so
definitely fixed, as to leave traces behind them; what we find are
the more advanced stages of development. The first ideas must have
been exceedingly obscure impressions, dependent upon many outward
chances, and we can no more reason ourselves back to them, than we can
conceive the appearance of the first organisms. Nor can we determine at
what stage of the development of humanity these first vague germs of
religious ideas appeared--whether, for example, they were present in our
simian forefathers. It does not even seem to me certain that the lower
animals are devoid of all superstitious feeling. We cannot, therefore,
expect to discover in any now existing race a total lack of even the
most rudimentary superstitious conceptions. We must rather wonder that
in a people otherwise so highly developed as the Eskimos, they should
still remain on such a remarkably low level.
In the light of our knowledge of the primitive religions, it seems
to me best not to regard the aforesaid instincts as the direct cause
of superstitious conceptions, but rather to distinguish between at
least three germs or impulses, which have provided the material out of
which these instincts--in reality resolvable into one, the instinct
of self-preservation--have fashioned all religious systems. The three
germs are: our tendency to personify nature, our belief in its and
our own duality and in the immortality of the soul, and the belief
in the supernatural power and influence of certain inanimate objects
(amulets). In order to recognise the great importance of these germs,
especially at a primitive stage of development, we must try to throw our
minds back to the standpoint of the child, which most nearly answers
to that of primitive man. To personify nature is for the child no
mere passing fancy; he consistently regards all surrounding objects,
animate and inanimate, as persons, and will, for example, carry on
long conversations with his toys. A child of my acquaintance, standing
one day in the kitchen watching some long sausages boiling in a pot,
exclaimed to the cook: 'I say, are these sausages killed yet?' All
of us, probably, can remember from our childhood how we personified
trees, certain mountains, and the like. It is the same proclivity, as
Tylor says, which reappears in our often irrational desire or thirst
for vengeance upon inanimate things which in one way or another have
caused us pain or injury. For example, when we were crossing Greenland,
Sverdrup and I had a sledge which was heavy to draw; it would have
caused us quite real satisfaction to have destroyed it, or otherwise
revenged ourselves upon it, when we at last left it behind. Another
inseparable characteristic of the child-mind is its determination to see
in every movement or occurrence in its little world the activity of a
personal will.
In the first childish philosophy of the human race, the same method
of regarding all natural objects as persons must have been quite
inevitable. Trees, stones, rivers, the winds, clouds, stars, the sun and
moon became living persons or animals. The Eskimos, for example, believe
that the heavenly bodies were once ordinary men and women before they
were transferred to the sky.
But after or along with this proclivity there must also have arisen
quite naturally the tendency to conceive a twofoldness, a duality, in
nature and in man, the feeling of a visible and tangible, and of an
invisible and super-sensible, existence. Let us, for instance, with
Tylor, conceive an ignorant primitive man hearing the echo of his own
voice; how can he help believing that it is produced by a man? He knows
nothing of the theory of sound-waves. But when he hears it time after
time, and can find no man who produces the sound, it is inevitable that
he should attribute it to invisible beings.
Or take, for example, the dew, which he sees appearing and disappearing,
he cannot tell whence or whither; the stars which are lighted in the
evening, and put out again at morning; the clouds which gather all of a
sudden, and of a sudden are dispersed; the rain, the wind, the currents
in the water--must not all these arouse in him the thought or conception
of visible and invisible existences? When the primitive Eskimo first
met with the glacier which he saw gliding out into the sea, and giving
birth, from time to time, to mighty icebergs, could he see in this
anything else than the activity of a live being? He attributed life to
the thing itself, and regarded these monstrous births as voluntary and
awe-inspiring actions.
Or, to take another example, when a primitive man saw his own shadow or
his own image in the water, now here, now gone again, eluding alike his
touch and his grasp, how could this fail to arouse in him the conception
of tangible and intangible existences, things that could now be here and
at the next moment could vanish away?
There were plenty of grounds, in short, for the evocation of the idea of
duality in nature, of a visible and an invisible phase of existence. But
this belief in the duality of nature must have been greatly strengthened
by the primitive man's conceptions of himself. When he slept, and
dreamed that he was out hunting, was dancing, was visiting others, in
short, was wandering far and wide, and then awoke and discovered that
his body had not moved from his cave or hut, and heard his wife or his
companions corroborate this, he naturally could not but believe that
he consisted of two parts, of one part which could leave him at night
and go through all these experiences, and one which lay still at home.
To distinguish between dreams and reality was far more than could be
expected of him. The speech of many primitive races cannot to this day,
as Spencer points out, express this distinction, having no means of
saying 'I dreamed that I saw' instead of 'I saw.' When he had further
noticed that his shadow followed him by day but not by night, it was
quite natural that he should give to the part that was separable from
him the name of 'shadow' or 'shade,' which, therefore, came to mean the
same thing which others denominate soul or spirit. We shall presently
see that the Eskimo has acquired in this way his belief in, and his name
for, the soul. The conviction of his own kinship with all the objects
around him is further strengthened by the observation that they have
shadows as well as himself.
But when primitive man was brought face to face with death it must have
made a powerful impression upon him, and the belief in his own duality
must have been confirmed in a still higher degree. Here, he saw, was
the same body, the same mouth, and the same limbs; the only difference
was that in life they spoke and moved, whereas now all was still. Their
speech and motion must be due to some life-giving principle, and this
must of course be the soul, which, as he knew from dreams, had the
power of quitting the body. We must also hold it only natural that the
soul, which at death departed from the body, came to be associated with
the breath of the mouth, which was now gone; and therefore (as for
example among some of the Eskimos) man was endowed with two souls, the
_shadow_ and the _breath_. This belief in the duality of the soul, which
is sometimes also traceable to the shadow and the reflection in the
mirror, is very widely spread, and to it we may probably trace our own
distinction between soul and spirit, _psyche_ and _pneuma_.
It might at first sight seem natural for primitive man to conclude that
the soul no less than the body dies at death. There are, in fact, some
who think so; but most of them, on meeting the dead again in their
dreams, were driven to the conclusion that their souls still lived.
Furthermore, it was not at all difficult to conceive that, as the soul
was temporarily absent from the body in sleep, delirium, and so forth,
it was permanently absent in death. Thus the belief in the continued
life of the soul has quite naturally and inevitably arisen; and as the
idea of annihilation is very unattractive to every living creature, this
conception of immortality has appealed forcibly to the human mind.
But as most men are afraid of death and of the dead, they do not like to
meet them again as ghosts; and, terror stimulating the imagination, a
supernatural power is attributed to them, mainly hurtful, but sometimes
helpful as well. People therefore come to think it wisest to propitiate
and make friends with them. Thus has arisen that worship of the dead
which plays so great a part in the religion of most races, and which
lies, if not at the foundation, at any rate, very near to it, in almost
all religions--as, for instance, among the Eskimos.
It cannot be thought unnatural that the spirits of the dead, and
especially those of the more eminent among them, such as chiefs and
princes, were gradually converted into gods.
The word for God among the Hebrews (_il_ or _el_), among the Egyptians
(_nutar_), and among many other peoples, meant only a powerful being,
and could be applied as well to heroes as to gods. As there were upon
the earth peculiarly powerful men, so there must be in the spirit-world
peculiarly powerful spirits; and these naturally became the divinities
_par excellence_ whom it was specially important to worship. Thus we
arrive at last at the belief in one God, at the moment when absolute
monarchy is established in the spirit world.
But alongside of this ancestor-worship, we recognise as a powerful
factor in the development of superstitious ideas the marked tendency
of the human race to attribute supernatural power to certain inanimate
objects, which, in the primitive stage, are used to avert or influence
the power of the dead or to attain other advantages; and from this has
developed the whole widespread belief in amulets, and possibly also, in
a measure, fetish-worship. We shall consider later how the belief in the
power of the amulet may have arisen.
An important force tending towards the continuance and development of
superstitious conceptions, when they have once arisen, is of course
to be found in the authority of the medicine-men (spirit-exorcisers),
or of the priests, over their fellow-men. Some minds, and these the
ablest, naturally came to have a better understanding than the others of
supernatural things, and to stand in a closer relation to the dead. It
was clear that they could thus help their neighbours, when, for example,
there was question of applying the powers of the dead to the benefit
of an individual or of a body of men; and the priest thus attained
power and influence in the community, and often advantages of a more
material nature as well. It has thus always been to the interest of
the medicine-men and priests to sustain and nurture superstitious or
religious ideas. They must themselves appear to believe in them; they
may even discover new precepts of divinity to their own advantage, and
thereby increase both their power and their revenues.
Among people like the Eskimos, yet another influence comes into play,
which colours their superstition; the influence, to wit, of the natural
surroundings among which they are placed, and of the hard and hazardous
life they lead. It is a recognised fact that a race which lives by
hunting and fishing has a special tendency to become superstitious;
of this we have a striking example in our own country. Compare the
men of the west and north coasts with those of the eastern districts.
The former have to look mainly to the sea for their livelihood, they
are dependent on wind and weather, on the coming of shoals of fish,
&c.--in short, on a whole series of influences unfathomable by man,
which they describe in one word as chance, and which may be not only
unfavourable but even fatal to them. Inevitably, therefore, they become
superstitious; nor is there any part of the country where pietism and
obscurantism find such fertile soil as on the west coast. When we turn
to the peasant of the eastern districts we find a remarkable difference.
He dwells at ease upon his farm; somewhat dependent, it is true, on wind
and weather, but in a comparatively secure position; and therefore he
is less superstitious. How much more strongly must the stimulus towards
superstition act upon the Eskimo, whose whole life depends upon hunting
and fishing! And it is still further intensified by the perpetual danger
in which he lives, and by his Arctic surroundings. Nature so wild and
majestic as that of Greenland--with its glaciers, icebergs, mirages,
tempests, and the long winter nights with the shimmering Northern
Lights--obtains an irresistible power over the mind, evokes reverence
and terror, and feeds the imagination. We look upon all these marvels
in the dry light of reason; but primitive man, like a child, ekes
out defective comprehension with wild fantasy, and his belief in the
supernatural is strengthened and developed.
Morality, which many believe to be intimately connected with religious
conceptions, has in its origin little or nothing to do with them. As
already indicated in Chapter X. it springs from the social instinct, and
is, among primitive races, quite distinct from superstitious ideas. Thus
they have no rewards beyond the grave for a life of moral excellence.
The Eskimos are in some measure an example of this. It is true that
we find hints in the Greenland legends of punishment in this life for
evil-doing, and especially for witchcraft, at the hands of supernatural
powers. The dead may possibly to a certain extent requite survivors for
benefits conferred upon them during their life; the souls (or inue?) of
animals can revenge a too cruel slaughter of their offspring; the soul
or spirit of a murdered man demands that his murder shall be avenged;
wrong done to the weak is punished in divers fashions, and so forth. But
all these notions are so vague that they cannot be conceived as primary
or fundamental, but rather as a sort of occasional overgrowth, due to
the natural mingling of social relations and laws with the primitive
legends. They may therefore be regarded as the first hesitating steps
of the religious ideas towards morality. It is not until a considerably
later stage that religion has consciously and in earnest entered into
an alliance with morality which helps to strengthen both. Religion has
thereby acquired a strong back-bone, and moral precepts produce a deeper
impression when they come from an exalted and divine source, and are
moreover reinforced by promises of rewards and punishments beyond the
grave.
A remarkable feature in all religions is that in spite of their great
differences in many essentials, there are also such great and important
similarities spread over the whole earth. This may be explained in two
ways: either on the theory that all religion is the result of the same
causes, acting independently in different places, or on the theory that
religious conceptions have arisen in one place and have thence spread
all the world over. For my part I believe that we may have recourse
to both theories in order to explain this similarity of religions.
The human brain and nerve-system are astonishingly similar among all
races; the differences consist chiefly in the development which must be
associated with the progress of the higher races. It follows that we
must assume the same laws of thought to hold good throughout, especially
in earlier and less complex stages of development; and as experiences
must in a certain measure have been everywhere identical, people must
not only have arrived at the same right conclusions, but must have also,
when the right explanation did not lie on the surface, have everywhere
fallen into the same fundamental errors; and upon these errors religions
are built. But in addition to this, certain definite religious
conceptions have presumably shaped themselves in particular places, and
have, in the form of mouth-to-mouth traditions and legends, permeated
all races of the earth. We shall subsequently find speaking evidence
for the belief that they may have reached even such remote races as the
Eskimos.
The faith of the Greenland Eskimo is of great interest towards the
elucidation of the questions above touched upon. It is so primitive
that I doubt whether it deserves the name of a religion. There are many
legends and much superstition, but it all lacks clear and definite form;
conceptions of the supernatural vary from individual to individual, and
they produce, as a whole, the impression of a religion in process of
formation, a mass of incoherent and fantastic notions which have not yet
crystallised into a definite view of the world. We must assume that all
religions have at one time or another passed through just such a stage
as this.
The Greenlanders, like all primitive races, originally conceived nature
as animate throughout, every object--stone, mountain, weapon, and so
forth--having its soul. We still find traces of this belief. The souls
of tools, weapons, and clothes, follow the dead on his wandering to the
land of the shades; therefore they are laid in the grave, that there
they may rot and their souls may be set free. Gradually, however, this
belief has, in the confused and illogical way peculiar to primitive
races, mixed itself up with a totally different one: the belief, to wit,
that the souls of the dead can take up their abode in different animals,
objects, mountains, and the like, which they subjugate to themselves,
and from which they can issue from time to time, even showing themselves
to the living. There has thus arisen the belief that in every natural
object there dwells a particular being, called its _inua_ (that is, its
owner)--a word which, characteristically enough, originally signified
human being or Eskimo.
According to the Eskimos, every stone, mountain, glacier, river, lake,
has its inua; the very air has one. It is still more remarkable to
find that even abstract conceptions have their inue; they speak for
example of the inue of particular instincts or passions. This may
seem surprising in a primitive people, but it is not very difficult
to explain. When, for example, a primitive man suffering from violent
hunger, feels an inward gnawing, it is quite natural that he should
conceive this to be caused by a being, whom he therefore describes as
the inua of hunger or appetite. As a rule, these inue are invisible,
but when they are seen, according to Rink, they take the form of a
brightness or fire, and the sight of them is very dangerous.
Man himself, according to the Greenlanders, consists of at least two
parts: the _body_ and the _soul_--and these they hold to be quite
distinct from each other. The soul can only be seen by aid of a
particular sense which is found in men under certain conditions, or
in those who possess a special gift: to wit, the angekoks. It appears
in the same shape as the body, but is of a more airy composition. The
angekoks explained to Hans Egede that souls were 'quite soft to the
touch, indeed scarcely tangible at all, just as if they had neither
muscle nor bone.'[54] The people of the east coast hold that the soul
is quite small, no larger than a hand or a finger. The Greenlanders'
word for the soul is _tarnik_; this resembles the word _tarrak_, which
signifies shadow, and I think there can be no doubt that they have
originally been the same word, since the Eskimo, as before indicated,
used to regard the soul and the shadow as one and the same thing.[55]
This tallies exactly with what we find among other peoples. The Fijian,
for example, calls his shadow his dark soul, which leaves him during
the night; his image in the mirror is his light soul. _Tarrak_ in
the Greenland language means both shadow and reflection, so that the
original word for soul meant all these three things. According to
Cranz,[56] some of the Greenlanders believed that man had two souls: his
shadow and his breath (compare above, pp. 216, &c.). The general belief
in Egede's and Cranz's time seems to have been that the soul was most
intimately connected with the breath. For instance, the angekok used to
blow upon a sick man in order to cure him or give him a new soul.
It is worth noting that Hanserak, a native catechist from West Greenland
who accompanied Captain Holm on his journey along the east coast (in
1884-85), stated in his diary (written in Eskimo), with reference to
the Angmagsaliks' belief in the soul, that 'a man has many souls. The
largest dwell in the larynx and in the left side, and are tiny men
about the size of a sparrow. The other souls dwell in other parts of
the body and are the size of a finger joint. If one of them is taken
away, its particular member sickens.'[57] Whether this belief has ever
been widespread among the Eskimos does not appear from other sources of
information.
The soul is quite independent, and can thus leave the body for any time,
short or long. It does so every night, when, in vivid dreams, it goes
hunting or joins in merrymakings and so forth. The soul can also remain
at home when the man is on a journey, a notion which Cranz believes to
arise from home-sickness. It can also be lost, or stolen by means of
witchcraft. Then the man falls ill and must get his angekok to set off
and fetch his soul back again. If, in the meantime, any disaster has
happened to it, for example if it has been eaten up by another angekok's
tornarssuk, the man must die. An angekok, however, had also power to
provide a new soul or exchange a sick soul for a sound, which, according
to Cranz, he could obtain from, say, a hare, a reindeer, a bird, or a
young child.
The strangest thing of all is that the soul could not only be lost in
its entirety, but that pieces of it could also go astray; and then the
angekok had to be called in to patch it up.
Among the Greenlanders of the east coast, according to Holm, a third
element in addition to these two enters into the composition of man: to
wit 'the name' (_atekata_). 'The name is as large as the man himself,
and enters into the child after its birth, on its mouth being damped
with water, while at the same time the "names" of the dead are spoken.'
Among all the Greenlanders, even the Christians, the first child born
after the death of a member of the family is almost always called
after him, the object being to procure peace for him in his grave. The
East Greenlander believes that the 'name' remains with the body or
migrates through different animals,[58] until a child is called by it.
It is therefore a duty to take care that this is done; if not, evil
consequences may follow for the child to whom the name ought to have
been given.
This belief is remarkably similar to one which (as Professor Moltke
Moe[59] informs me) is current in Norway: to wit, that the dead 'seek
after names.' A pregnant woman dreams of one or other departed relative
who comes to her ('seeking after a name'), and after him she must
call her child; if not, she is guilty of an act of neglect, which may
injuriously affect the child's future.[60] The same superstition is also
found among the Lapps. Among the Koloshes in North-West America, the
mother sees in a dream the departed relative whose soul gives the child
its likeness. Among the Indians also the naming of children is made to
depend on a dream.[61]
In Greenland, as everywhere else, the name is of great importance; it
is believed that there is a spiritual affinity between two people of
the same name,[62] and that the characteristics of a dead person are
transmitted to one who is called after him, who, moreover, is specially
bound to defy the influences which have caused his predecessor's death.
Thus the name-child of a man who has died at sea must make it his
special business to defy the sea in his kaiak--a notion which is also
found among other races, for example, the Indians.
The Greenlanders are very much afraid of mentioning the names of the
dead. On the east coast, according to Holm, this fear goes so far that
when two people have borne the same name the survivor must change his;
and if the deceased has been named after an animal, an object, or an
abstract idea, the word designating it must be altered. The language is
thus subjected to important temporary changes, for these re-christenings
are accepted by a whole tribe.[63] The same custom is very widely
diffused among the Indians of North America and of Patagonia, among
the Samoyedes in Asia, and the Gipsies in Europe. It is also found in
Eastern Africa, in Madagascar, Australia, Tasmania, New Guinea, and the
Society Islands. When Queen Pomare of Tahiti died, the word _po_ (night)
was dropped from the language, and _mi_ took its place.[64]
The fear of mentioning the names of the dead is also found in Europe--in
Germany, the Shetland Islands,[65] and elsewhere--and, no doubt, among
us in Norway as well. In Greenland, as among some native races in
America and in the Sunda Islands,[66] sick people who bear the same name
as one who is dead change it in order to cheat death.
The East Greenlanders are also afraid to speak their own names. Holm
says that when they were asked what they were called they always got
others to answer for them. When a mother was asked 'what was the name
of her child, she answered that she could not tell. The father likewise
refused to say; he intimated that he had forgotten it, but that we could
learn it from his wife's brother.'[67]
Among the Indians, the name plays a great part; they even try to keep
it secret, and therefore a man is often called by a nickname.[68] Among
many races, custom forbids the mention of the names of relations, as,
for instance, a husband's, a mother-in-law's, a son-in-law's, the names
of parents, or the name of the king. This potency of the name goes to
considerable lengths amongst certain races. When the King of Dahomey,
Bossa Ahadi, ascended the throne, he had everyone beheaded who bore the
name of Bossa.
The fear of mentioning names is common to humanity; we find it in
many of our legends,[69] and it prevails among us even to this day,
especially upon the west coast.[70] It may probably be traced to the
fact that the name and the thing are apt to melt into one. People come
to think that when once the name is known the thing[71] is known as
well, so that the mention of its name comes to exercise an influence
upon the thing itself. A man may thus lose his strength by revealing
his name. Therefore, too, we may suppose that dead people do not like
to be called by their names, and that to name them may be a means of
summoning them from their graves or of disturbing them in their rest.
The Greenlanders dare not even speak the name of a glacier (_puisortok_)
as they row past it, for fear lest it should be offended and throw off
an iceberg.[72] A similar notion is very prevalent among the Indians and
others, who dare not speak the names of places or of rivers.[73]
With reference to the soul's life after death, the Greenlanders seem to
have had diverse opinions. Some, whom the missionaries call stupid and
brutish people, thought that all was over at death, and that there was
no life beyond the grave. Most of the Greenlanders, however, seem to
have thought that even if the soul was not quite immortal, it was yet
in the habit of continuing to live after leaving the body, or at any
rate of coming to life again even if it had died along with the body. In
that case it went either to a place under the earth and the sea or to
the upper world in the sky, or rather between the sky and the earth.[74]
The former place is regarded as the better of the two; it is a very
good land, where, according to Hans Egede, there is 'lovely sunshine,
excellent water, animals and birds in abundance.' To many it may seem
strange that, unlike us, they should place their happiest region under
the earth or the sea; but this, it seems to me, may easily have arisen
from their having seen the heaven and the mountains reflected in the
water, and believed that it was another world they saw. No doubt they
have in process of time discovered that it is only a reflection, but the
original belief in an under-world has maintained itself none the less.
It is particularly characteristic that this under-world is placed under
the water, and that there is much sunshine in it; for it must have been
chiefly in the sunshine that they saw the reflection.
The other region, in the over-world, is colder; it is like the earth
with its hills and valleys, and over it is arched the blue heaven.
There the souls of the dead dwell in tents round a lake, and when the
lake overflows it rains on earth. There are many crowberries there, and
many ravens, who always settle on the heads of old women[75] and cling
on to their hair; it is difficult to drive them off, and they seem to
fill the place of lice here on earth. The souls of the dead can be seen
up there by night, in the form of northern lights, playing football
with a walrus head. On the east coast, however, it is believed that the
northern lights are merely the souls of stillborn or prematurely born
children, or of those who are killed after their birth. These children's
souls 'take each other's hands and dance around in mazy circles. They
play at ball, too, and when they see orphan children, they rush upon
them and throw them to the ground. They accompany their sports with a
hissing, whistling sound.'[76] Therefore, the northern lights are called
_alugsukat_, which appears to mean untimely births, or children born in
concealment. This notion of the Greenlanders seems to be closely related
to the Indians' belief[77] that the northern lights are the dead in
dancing array.
The Eskimos have no hell. Both the above-named regions are more or less
good, and whether the soul goes to the one or to the other does not seem
to depend particularly upon the man's good or evil acts.
Egede, however, asserts that to the lovely land under the earth there
go only 'women who die in childbirth, men who are drowned at sea, and
whale-fishers, as a reward for the evil they have suffered here on
earth; all others go to the sky.'[78] It seems doubtful whether this was
ever a general belief. An exactly analogous idea is to be found among
ourselves. An old woman in Telemark said to Moltke Moe, speaking of her
son: 'Ah, yes, he is certain enough to have gone straight to heaven; for
you know it's said in God's Word that those who are drowned at sea or
die in childbirth go straight away to the Kingdom of God.'[79]
From other accounts, in any case, it seems that these are not the
only souls which go to the under-world. The destination of the soul
may partly depend on the treatment of the body. Paul Egede says
(_Efterretninger om Grönland_, p. 174) that 'it was their custom to take
people who were sick unto death gently out of bed, and, laying them on
the floor, to swathe them in their grave-clothes. This lowering them
down from the bed probably symbolises their wish that after death they
may descend beneath the earth. But if a man dies before he is taken
from the bed, his soul goes upward.' On his inquiring why a dog's head
was laid beside the grave, he was answered 'that it was a custom among
some of their fellows to lay a dog's head beside a child when it was
buried, in order that it might scent about and guide the child to the
land of spirits when it came to life again, children being foolish and
witless, and unable to find their own way.'[80] It seems as though
Captain Holm[81] doubted the correctness of this trait (which, however,
he quotes from Hans Egede), on the ground that he could discover no
such poetical custom among the East Greenlanders. But in this he does
not seem to be quite justified; for, on the one hand, we are scarcely
entitled to doubt so definite a statement by a man like Paul Egede,
who knew the Greenlanders and their language so well, while, on the
other hand, we must always remember how fluctuating and changeable are
religious conceptions. Analogous customs, moreover, are found among the
Indians. The Aztecs killed a dog at funerals, and burned or buried it
along with the body, with a cotton thread tied around its throat. Its
function was to lead the deceased over the deep waters of Chiuhnahuapan
on the way to the land of the dead.[82]
The journey to the beautiful region is, however, no easy matter. Egede
says that there is on the way a high sharp rock, 'down which the dead
must slide on their backs, wherefore the rock is bloody.' Cranz asserts
that it takes the souls five or even more days to slide down this rock
or mountain; and those luckless ones are especially to be pitied who
have to make the journey in winter or in stormy weather, for then they
can easily come to harm. This they call the second death, after which
nothing is left of them.[83] They fear this very much, and, in order
to avert it, the survivors, during the critical days, are bound to
observe certain precautions. Similar legends as to the many difficulties
besetting the long journey of souls to the land of the dead are to be
found amongst most races.[84] It seems probable that these difficulties
have arisen in order to serve as tests through which the good can
pass more easily than the wicked. But since, among the Eskimos, the
difficulties afford no touchstone of moral qualities, we must conclude
that the legend describing them must be borrowed from others, and most
probably from the Indians. The sharp rock in particular reminds us of
the Indians' 'mountain ridge, which was as sharp as the sharpest knife,'
along which the souls had to pass on the way to their dwelling-place,
_Wanaretebe_.[85]
The Greenlanders seem generally to have attributed a soul to animals,
which, like the human soul, could survive the body and journey to the
regions beyond. This appears clearly enough from the bear story related
in Chapter XII (see p. 206). It also appears from the custom mentioned
on p. 237 of laying dogs' heads in the graves of children; for it is of
course the dog's soul, dwelling in its head, which is to accompany the
child. For the rest, this is a general belief among primitive peoples.
The Kamtchatkans, for instance, believe that the souls of all animals,
even of the smallest fly, come to life again in the under-world.
The Greenlanders know of many supernatural beings of a higher order.
Among those who stand nearest to man, and are most useful to him through
the medium of the angekoks, we must first name the so-called _tôrnat_
(the plural of _tôrnak_). These are the angekoks' ministering spirits,
who impart to them their supernatural power. They are often said to be
souls of the dead, especially of grandfathers or other ancestors; but
they may also be the souls of various animals, or other supernatural
beings, either of human origin, like the _kivigtut_, to be hereafter
mentioned, or independent spiritual essences dwelling in the sea or far
inland. They may also be the souls of absent Europeans. An angekok would
as a rule have several, some acting as councillors, others as helpers in
danger, and others, again, as avengers and destroyers. These last were
despatched by the angekok to show themselves in the form of ghosts, and
thus to frighten to death those against whom the vengeance was directed.
In connection with, or superior to, the tornat, we find the
_tôrnârssuk_, which is generally held to be their master, or a
particularly powerful tornak. The tornarssuk was regarded as, on the
whole, a benevolent power; through his tornak the angekok could get into
communication with him and obtain wise counsels. But evil deeds seem
often to have been attributed to him. With him, as with all the other
supernatural beings, it probably depended on the angekoks whether he
should be beneficent or the reverse. His home lay in the under-world,
in the land of the souls. As to his appearance, ideas were very vague;
some holding that he had no form at all; others that he was like a bear;
others, again, that he was huge and had only one arm; and some, finally,
that he was no larger than a finger. As to his nature, according to Hans
Egede, there was no less difference of opinion; for while some held that
he was immortal, others believed that it needed very little to kill him.
Thus Egede relates that during an angekok's magic operations, or while
he is communing with the tornarssuk, 'no one must scratch his head, or
fall asleep; for by such means they say the wizard may be killed, and
even the devil [that is, the tornarssuk] himself.' Dr. Rink holds that
all this is founded upon misunderstandings on the part of Egede and the
other missionaries, and that, on the whole, very little was known either
as to the tornarssuk's appearance or as to his nature. The heathens on
the east coast, however, seem, as we shall see, to know all about him.
In this tornarssuk many have been fain to see a beneficent supreme
being whom the Eskimos worship; answering, accordingly, to our God.
Nevertheless he was, on the introduction of Christianity, transformed
into the devil, with whom he is now synonymous. I cannot help
believing that Egede and the first missionaries have had some hand in
working-up this conception of him as God. They no doubt started, as
many missionaries do even to this day, from the hypothesis that every
people must have a conception of God or of a beneficent supreme being,
and, assuming this, they probably cross-questioned the poor heathen
so long about their tornarssuk, that they at last came to answer
just what their questioners desired. Moreover, they doubtless talked
so much of their good and almighty God that the heathen priests, in
order not to be beaten, began to maintain that they, too, had such a
God to help them. That the tornarssuk was not so great a spirit as is
commonly stated seems evident from Captain Holm's account of the heathen
East Greenlanders' belief. Their tornarssuk is a much less imposing
creature, who dwells in the sea, and whom many people, both angekoks and
others, can see and have seen. They therefore describe him with great
exactitude, and have even numerous representations of him. He is long,
like a large seal, but fatter than a seal, and has, among other things,
long tentacles. Holm, judging from their descriptions, has come to the
heretical opinion that he must be an ordinary cuttle-fish. He devours
the souls of those whom he can capture, and is often quite red with
blood. One must admit that if this creature is descended from our innate
conception of God, he has deplorably degenerated. Moreover, he is not,
on the east coast, one and indivisible; but every angekok, according
to Holm, has his tornarssuk. He has also a coadjutor, _aperketek_, a
black animal as much as two ells in length, and with great 'knife-tongs
in his head.' Holm says expressly that he could discover no trace of
a conception of the tornarssuk as the master of the tornak; and we
are thus forced to subtract a little from the power and importance
attributed to this spirit by former authors.[86]
It seems to me clear that this belief in the tornarssuk, no less than
in the tornat, must be traced to a belief in the spirits or ghosts
of ancestors. We may possibly find evidence of this in the words
themselves. It seems probable that _tôrnak_ may have been the same word
as _tarnik_ or _tarne_ (that is, soul), which again resembles _tarrak_
(shadow--compare p. 226). We find some support for this theory in the
fact that _tôrnak_ appears on the east coast in the form of _tartok_
or _tartak_, which is the same word as _tarrak_.[87] Thus it appears
to me probable that all these words were originally one and the same,
signifying shadow, reflection, or soul, and also designating the souls
of the dead. _Tôrnârssuk_, again, is certainly a derivative of _tôrnak_,
having probably been in its origin the same as _tôrnârssuak_, that is to
say, 'the big, or the bad and horrible, tornak.' This implies that he
was originally a particularly powerful tornak, which, among some tribes,
has gradually obtained a sort of dominion over the other tornat or souls
of the dead.
That these souls should have become the subject of peculiar
superstitions is readily comprehensible when we observe the fear
with which they still regard the dead, and still more, of course,
their spectres. These _gengangere_ are often visible and may be very
dangerous, though sometimes, too, they are tolerably well-disposed.
The most amiable way in which they can manifest themselves is in a
whistling sound, or a singing in people's ears. In the latter case they
are begging for food, and to such a request a Greenlander will reply:
'Help yourself'--meaning 'from my stores.'[88] That the ghost is not
always hostile appears from what Niels Egede[89] relates of a boy at
Godthaab who, playing one day with several others in the neighbourhood
of his mother's grave, suddenly saw a shape rising up from it. He and
the others took to their heels, but the ghost ran after them, caught her
son, 'embraced him, kissed him, and said, "Do not be frightened of me; I
am your mother, and love you";' with more to the same effect.
Their customs at the death and burial of their friends show how much
they fear the dead, and especially their souls or ghosts. The dying are
often dressed in their grave-clothes--that is to say, in their best
garments--a little while before death. The legs, too, are often bent
together, so that the feet come up under the back, and in this position
they are sewed or swathed in skins. The object is, no doubt, that they
may take up less space and need a smaller grave; and it is done during
their life in order that the survivors may have to handle their corpses
as little as possible. This dread of touching a dead body goes so far
(as before-mentioned on page 137) that they will not help a man in
danger--for example, a kaiak-man who is drowning--when they believe that
he is at the point of death.
When they are finally dead, they are taken, if it be in a house, out
through the window; if in a tent, through an opening cut in the skins
of the back wall.[90] This corresponds remarkably with the common
custom in our own country of carrying a body out through an opening
in the wall made for the purpose.[91] The reason is, no doubt, the
same in both cases--namely, that these openings can be entirely closed
again, so that the spectre or soul cannot re-enter, as it might if the
body were carried out by way of the passage or the door. It is not
improbable that the Greenlanders may have borrowed the habit from the
ancient Norwegian or Icelandic settlers in Greenland. It is mentioned
in several sagas as having been the custom of the heathen Icelanders.
In the Eyrbyggja Saga[92] it is said: 'Then he [Arnkel] let break
down the wall behind him [the body of Thorolf], and brought him out
thereby.' The clothes and other possessions of the deceased are also
at once thrown out, that they may not make the survivors unclean. This
recalls our death-bed burning, which is also a widespread custom among
our kindred races in Europe.[93]
The survivors also carry their own possessions out of the house, that
the smell of death may pass away from them. They are either brought
in again at evening, or, as on the east coast, are left lying out for
several days. The relatives of the dead man, on the east coast, go
so far as to leave off wearing their old clothes, which they throw
away.[94]
When the body is carried out, a woman sets fire to a piece of wood, and
waves it backwards and forwards, saying: 'There is nothing more to be
had here.' This is, no doubt, done with a view to showing the soul that
everything belonging to it has been thrown out.
Bodies are either buried in the earth or thrown into the sea (if one of
the dead man's ancestors has perished in a kaiak (?)). The possessions
of the deceased--such as his kaiak, weapons, and clothes; or, in the
case of a woman, her sewing materials, crooked knife, &c.--are laid on
or beside the grave, or, if the body is thrown into the sea, they are
laid somewhere upon the beach. This seems to be partly due to their
fear of a dead person's property and unwillingness to use it; partly,
too, as Hans Egede says, to the fact that the sight of these things and
the consequent recollection of the dear departed would be apt to set
them crying, and 'if they cry too much over the departed they believe
that it makes him cold.'[95] This idea reminds one strongly of the
second song of Helge Hundingsbane, where his widow Sigrun meets him
wet and frozen, and wrapped in a cloud of hoar frost, by reason of her
weeping over him. ('Helge swims in the dew of sorrow.'[96]) Compare
also the well-known Swedish-Danish folk-song of 'Aage and Else,' in
which we read:
'For every time that in thy breast Thy heart is glad and light, Then
all within my coffin seems With rose-leaves decked and dight.
For every time that in thy breast Thy heart is sad and sore, Then all
within my coffin seems To swim in red, red gore.'
But, beyond this, it was doubtless the belief of the Greenlanders that
the deceased had need of his implements, partly for earthly excursions
from the grave, partly also in the other world. They saw, indeed, that
the implements rotted, but that only meant that their souls followed
the soul of the deceased. Those who carry the body out, or have
touched it or anything belonging to it, are for some time unclean, and
must refrain from certain foods and occupations, which the angekoks
prescribe; indeed, all those who live in the same house must observe
the like precautions, partly to avoid injury to themselves, partly in
order to place no hindrance in the way of the departed soul on its
journey to the other world.
They must weep and mourn for a stated time over the deceased; and if
they meet acquaintances or relatives whom they have not seen since the
death took place, they must, even if it be a long while after, begin
to weep and howl as soon as the newcomer enters the house. Such scenes
of lamentation must often be exceedingly ludicrous, and are, in fact,
the merest comedy, ending in a consolatory banquet. They have also many
other mourning customs, which exercise a tolerably powerful influence
upon their lives. Those, for example, who have carried out a body must
do no work in iron for several years. Moreover, we must remember the
before-mentioned dread of uttering the name of the deceased.
The great object of all this is no doubt, as the East Greenlanders
said to Holm, 'to keep the dead from being angry;' whence we see what
a powerful influence over this life they attribute to the departed.
There is, therefore, nothing improbable in the theory that the whole
belief in the tornat and tornarssuk may have developed from this fear.
In process of time, however, other kinds of superstition have doubtless
come to play a part in the matter.
The Greenlanders believe in a whole host of other supernatural beings.
Of these I can only mention a few.
Marine animals are under the sway of a gigantic woman whom some call
'the nameless one,' others _Arnarkuagssâk_, which simply means 'the old
woman.'
Her dwelling is under the sea, where she sits beside a lamp under which,
as under all Greenland lamps, there is a saucer or stand to catch
the dripping train-oil. In this saucer whole flocks of sea-birds are
swimming, and out of it proceed all the sea animals, such as the seal,
the walrus, and the narwhal. When certain impurities gather in her
hair, she keeps the sea animals away from the coasts, or they remain
away of their own accord, attracted by the impurities; and it is then
the angekok's difficult duty to seek her out and appease or comb her.
The way to her abode is perilous, and the angekok must have his tornak
with him. First he passes through the lovely land of spirits in the
under-world; then he comes to a great abyss, which he can cross only (by
the help of the tornak) on a large wheel as smooth as ice, and whirling
rapidly. Then he passes a boiling cauldron with live seals in it; then
either through a dangerous picket of angry seals who stand erect and
bite on every side, or else past a huge dog which stands outside the
woman's house, and gives warning when a great angekok approaches. This
dog takes only a few winks of sleep every now and then, and one must
be ready to seize the opportunity; but this only the highest angekoks
can manage. Here, again, the tornak must take the angekok by the hand;
the entrance is wide enough, but the further way is narrow as a thread
or the edge of a knife, and passes over a horrible abyss. At last they
enter the house where the woman is sitting. She is said to have a hand
as large as the tail-fin of a whale, and if she strikes you with it
there is an end of you. According to some accounts, she tears her hair
and perspires with fury over such a visit, so that the angekok, aided
by his tornak, must fight with her in order to get her hair cleaned or
combed; while others hold that she is accessible to persuasions and
appeals. His task achieved, the return journey is comparatively easy
for the angekok.[97] This myth reminds us strongly of the visits to
the under-world or Hades which play so prominent a part in European
legends, for example, in those of Dionysos, Orpheus, Heracles, and
others (compare also Dante), and to which we have a parallel in our
own mythology in Hermod's ride to Hel to bring back Balder. Similar
legends are also found, however, among the Indians. From information
given me by Moltke Moe, it seems scarcely doubtful that this Eskimo
conception is coloured by, or even borrowed from, European legends.
The smooth wheel,[98] for example, and the bridge which is narrow as
a thread or a knife-edge, reappear, sometimes in the same words, in
mediæval legends of journeys to the under world. In an old ballad of
the north of England mention is made of 'the bridge of dread no wider
than a thread.' Tundal sees in purgatory a narrow bridge over a horribly
deep, dark, and malodorous valley, and so forth. The oldest appearance
in legendary literature of this hell-bridge is in Pope Gregory the
Great's Dialogues, dating from the year 594 (lib. iv. cap. 36).[99] But
these mediæval conceptions, in their turn, are indubitably coloured by
Oriental traditions. The Jews speak of the thread-like hell-bridge,
and the Mahommedans believe that in the middle of hell all souls must
pass over a bridge narrower than a hair, sharper than a sword, and
darker than night.[100] According to the Avesta, the souls of the old
Parsees, on the third night after death, had to cross the 'high Hara'--a
mountain which surrounds the earth and reaches right to heaven--in order
to arrive at the Tsjinvat-bridge which is guarded by two dogs. In the
Pehlevi writings, this bridge is said to widen out to nearly a parasang
when the souls of the pious pass over it, but it narrows in before the
ungodly until they topple down into hell, which lies right under.[101]
An analogous conception is found (compare Sophus Bugge, _op. cit._) in
the old folk-song 'Draumekvædi,' as to the Gjallar-bridge on the way to
the land of the dead. It hangs high in air so that one grows dizzy upon
it ('Gjallarbrui, hon henge saa högt i vinde'), and in some variants of
the song it is expressly stated to be narrow, whilst in others it is
said to be 'both steep and broad.' In the Eddas we are told that Hermod,
on the way to Hel, rode over the Gjallar-bridge, which was roofed with
shining gold, and which thundered under his horse's hoofs not less than
if five squadrons of dead men (that is to say 250) had been passing over
it.
It seems probable that this belief of the Greenlanders in a narrow
bridge or pass must be coloured by these European, or partly Oriental,
conceptions, imparted to them by the ancient Scandinavians. At the same
time there may also be something more original at the root of it. Thus
we find among the Indians the notion of a snake-bridge, or a tree trunk
swinging in the air, which leads over the river of the dead to the city
of the dead.[102]
The notion of the huge dog who guards the entrance to the woman's house
reminds us strongly of Hel's terrible dog Garm, with the bloody breast,
who barks before the Gnipa-cave. For the rest, this notion of the dog
in the other world is a common one. Among the Hindoos, two dogs watch
the path to the abode of Jama,[103] and among the old Parsees, two
dogs guard the Tsjinvat-bridge (see last page). The Indians station
a huge and furious dog at the other end of the above-mentioned snake
bridge.[104]
In European folk-tales, and especially in those of Scandinavia, we
often meet with an old woman who bears rule over animals. She likes
to be called 'Mother,' is fond of being scratched or washed, and is
glad to get hold of a pair of shoes, a piece of tobacco, or the like.
If the Ash-Lad meets her and does her any such service, she requites
him with a 'motherly turn,' making her animals help him or giving him
gifts. But besides this common theme which reappears in a majority
of our folk-tales, we can also point to a particular story which is
founded on similar conceptions. The Ash-Lad comes to the ogress with
a whole company of animals, the stoat, the tree-bear (the squirrel),
the hare, the fox, the wolf and the bear, to try to rescue his sister
whom she has carried off. While he is eating, the ogress cries 'Scratch
me! scratch me!' 'You must wait till I've finished,' says the boy; but
his sister warns him that if he does not do it at once the ogress will
tear him to pieces. Then he makes the animals scratch her, one after
the other; but none of them content her until it comes to the turn of
the bear, who claws her till her itch departs. In several variants,
three brothers make the attempt one after the other, and she kills the
first two of them.[105] Even at first sight this Scandinavian group of
stories seems suspiciously like the Greenland legends, the scratching
and washing especially reminding us strongly of the hair-combing; but
when we also find that Arnarkuagssak is unknown to the Alaskan Eskimos,
the connection seems to be clear. According to one Greenland legend she
was the daughter of a powerful angekok who, being overtaken by a storm,
threw her out of the woman-boat to save himself. She clung on to the
gunwale, whereupon he, one by one, cut off her fingers and her hands.
These were transformed into seals and whales, over which she obtained
dominion; and when she sank to the bottom, she took up her abode there
for good. Among the Eskimos of Baffin's Land the same legend is told of
a woman named _Sedna_, who has, however, become a different being from
Arnarkuagssak. The latter seems to be unknown on the Mackenzie river.
'If it should appear,' says Dr. Rink, 'that the Greenland myth is not
known in Alaska either, we must conclude that it was invented during
the course of the emigration to Greenland.'[106] It seems more natural,
however, to conjecture, as I have done above, that it descends from the
old Scandinavians.
On the whole, then, it seems probable that this Greenland divinity
was originally a character in old Norwegian folk-lore, and that the
description of the journey to her abode is descended from, or at
least coloured by, European myths and legends, imported by the old
Scandinavian settlers; but more original Eskimo elements may also be
mixed up in it, having their origin in the west, and resembling the
myths of the Indians.
The souls who go to the over-world have to pass the abode of a
strange woman who dwells at the top of a high mountain. She is called
_Erdlaversissok_ (_i.e._ the disemboweller), and her properties are a
trough and a bloody knife. She beats upon a drum, dances with her own
shadow, and says nothing but 'My buttocks, &c.,' or else sings 'Ya, ha,
ha, ha!' When she turns her back she displays huge hindquarters, from
which dangles a lean sea-scorpion; and when she turns sideways her mouth
is twisted utterly askew, so that her face becomes horizontally oblong.
When she bends forwards she can lick her own hindquarters, and when she
bends sideways she can strike her cheek, with a loud smack, against her
thigh. If you can look at her without laughing you are in no danger;
but as soon as anyone begins to smile she throws away her drum, seizes
him, hurls him to the earth, takes her knife and rips him up, tears out
his entrails, throws them into the trough, and then greedily devours
them.[107] In this story, too, we meet with more than one trait of
Scandinavian tradition.[108] Thus 'the underground folk' cannot endure
laughter; the human being who wounds them by laughing at them must pay
dear for his thoughtlessness. And in two names for the Jotun-woman which
are preserved in Snorro's Edda,[109] _Bakrauf_ and _Rifingafla_ ('the
woman with the cleft or torn hindquarters') we find exactly the same
idea which is represented in the ogress of the Greenland legend.
On the same journey the souls also pass the dwelling of the Moon Spirit.
The way they have to go is described as very narrow, and one sinks in it
up to the shoulders.[110] This reminds us of the bogs which are said in
our 'Draumekvædi' to lie in the neighbourhood of the Gjallar-bridge, and
into which the wicked sink.[111]
Hög'e æ den Gjallarbrui,
ho tisst 'punde skyi hange;
men eg totte tyngre dei Gaglemyrann,--
gu' bære den, dei ska gange![112]
High is the Gjallar-bridge; it hangs,
Close to the clouds, in air;
But worse I deem the Gagle-moss--
God help who treadeth there!
In Denmark, too, popular legend speaks of these hell-bogs or
hell-mosses. Thus it seems that here again we can trace the influence of
the ancient Scandinavians, to whom the conception of such penitential
swamps in the under-world no doubt came from the ecclesiastical
vision-fictions of the middle ages.
When kaiak-men are at sea, they believe themselves to be surrounded by
the so-called _ignerssuit_ (the plural of _ignerssuak_, which means
'great fire'). These are for the most part good spirits, inclined to
help men. The entrance to their dwellings is on the sea shore. 'The
first earth which came into existence had neither seas nor mountains,
but was quite smooth. When the One above was displeased with the people
upon it, he destroyed the world. It burst open, and the people fell
down into the rifts and became ignerssuit, and the water poured over
everything. When the earth reappeared, it was entirely covered by a
glacier. Little by little this decreased, and two human beings fell down
from heaven, by whom the earth was peopled. One can see every year that
the glacier is shrinking. In many places signs may yet be seen of the
time when the sea rose over the mountains.'[113]
In this myth we can trace influences from no fewer than four different
quarters. The conception of the ignerssuit, who resemble men and live
under the earth, suggests the Indian legend that men formerly lived
under the earth, but began one day to climb to the surface by means of a
vine which grew up through a fissure or chasm in a mountain. When a fat
old woman (or man) tried to clamber up, the vine broke off, and the rest
had to remain below, while those who had reached the top peopled the
earth.[114]
The two beings who fall down from heaven appear to belong to the
cosmogony of the Finnish-Ugrian races, or to be borrowed from the same
source. Among the Vogulians, the two first people descended from heaven
in a cradle of silver wire. The idea that heaven is the birthplace of
humanity is also found in the myths of other Finnish-Ugrian tribes in
Asia and Europe.[115]
Similar ideas have also reached the Indians (perhaps through the
Eskimos?) Thus the Hurons believe that the first human beings came
from heaven.[116] The idea that the earth was originally flat and then
split up also reminds us of the Finnish-Ugrian cosmogony, according to
which the earth, when first created, formed a quite smooth and level
crust over the water, but was afterwards made to billow by an internal
convulsion, and stiffened in its billowy form, whence the origin of
mountains and valleys.[117]
We may distinguish a third element in the people who originally dwelt
upon this flat earth, in its displeasure with whom the Power above
caused the earth to split and the water to rush forth. It seems scarcely
doubtful that this conception is due to a direct intermixture of the
Christian or Jewish legend of the Deluge, which might, of course, have
passed from the west coast up along the east coast. Possibly, however,
the notion of the flood may have been supplemented by touches from a
very widespread legend in Europe, and especially in Scandinavia, as
to how the subterranean or invisible people (_huldre-folk_) came into
existence. The Lord one day paid a visit to Eve as she was busy washing
her children. All those who were not yet washed she hurriedly hid in
cellars and corners and under big vessels, and presented the others to
the visitor. The Lord asked if these were all, and she answered 'Yes';
whereupon He replied, 'Then those which are "dulde" (hidden) shall
remain "hulde" (concealed, invisible).' And from them the _huldre-folk_
are sprung.[118] Be this as it may, the ignerssuit cannot but remind us
of the subterranean people in our Scandinavian folk-lore.
Finally we have as a fourth element the glacier, which must belong
exclusively to Greenland itself.[119]
Among other supernatural beings may be mentioned the different sorts
of inland-folk who live in the interior of the country or upon the
ice-fields. Some of these are called _tornit_ (the plural of _tunek_)
or _inorutsit_, or, upon the east coast, _timersit_. They are of human
aspect, but of huge stature. Some say they are 4 metres (13 feet) in
height, and others that they are as tall as a woman-boat is long, that
is to say at least 10 metres (more than 32 feet). Their souls alone
are as big as ordinary people. They live by hunting both land and sea
animals. They can run exceedingly fast. On the sea they do not use
kaiaks, but sit in the water 'with the fog for their kaiak.'[120] They
can catch seals from the land (in great traps), and they can carry two
huge saddlebacks or bladder-noses inland with them in a seal-skin bag
upon their shoulders. As a rule they stand on a hostile footing towards
men, but they are also open to friendly intercourse, and will sometimes
even exchange wives with them.
Another class of inland-folk are the _igaligdlit_ (the plural of
_igalilik_), who go about with a whole kitchen on their backs. The pot
alone is so huge that they can boil an entire seal in it; and it boils
even as they carry it about. A third class are the _erkigdlit_ (the
plural of _erkilek_), who, according to some, are like men above and
dogs below, but according to others have dogs' heads or dogs' noses.
They are expert archers, and carry their arrows in quivers on their
backs.[121] They are hostile to men. I may also mention the _isserkat_
(the plural of _isserak_), who 'blink lengthwise'--which probably means
that their eye-holes are perpendicular instead of horizontal.
As Rink has shown, there can be very little doubt that these
inland-folk, who all play a prominent part in the Eskimo legends, were
originally different races of Indians with whom the forefathers of the
Greenlanders, while they still dwelt on the north coast of America,
had dealings, sometimes amicable, but generally hostile. They brought
with them to Greenland stories of these adventures, and they still
laid the scene in the interior of the country, where the Indians in
process of time became entirely mythical beings. The word _tunek_ seems
simply to mean Indian, and is so used to this day by the Eskimos of
Labrador. By the Eskimo tribes on the west coast of Hudson's Bay and
further west the word _erkigdlit_ is applied to the Indians of the
interior. The description of the tornit as large and swift applies well
to the Indians, who are taller than the Eskimos, and have the upper
hand of them by land. The fact that the erkigdlit are clever with the
bow and carry their arrows in quivers--a custom not in use among the
Greenlanders--also suggests the Indians. So, too, do the dogs' legs
or dogs' faces attributed to them, these having no doubt arisen from
the Indians' own belief that they are descended from a dog (see p.
271).[122] The isserkat, 'those who blink lengthwise,' may originally
have been Indian races with remarkably oblique or otherwise peculiar
eyes; such tribes are described by travellers. Here, then, we have
supernatural or mythical beings who may be assumed to be of historical
origin. The legends of wars with them have also, no doubt, a certain
historical foundation. In the same way, probably, did the classical
peoples come in contact with the mythical races of their legends.[123]